The Mask of the Caballero Oscuro
by CosmicInbalance
Summary: AU-ish, since I refuse to put this in the crossover section. Batman gets transported to the town of Reina de Los Angeles in 1840 Alta California. There he meets the first dark knight- a certain childhood hero known as Zorro.
1. Chapter 1: California Time

A/N: I know this belongs in the crossover section, but honestly, I don't want this to be the only story lurking in a Zorro/Batman crossover section because no one would ever read it. It really is striking to me how this has not yet occurred to anyone. 1940's _The Mark of Zorro _is a definitive part of the Batman mythos, not only because it is featured as part of his origin story, but because the creation of Batman was inspired at least partially if not totally by Zorro. So read _The Curse of Capistrano. _Watch_ The Mask of Zorro_ (1998). Acquaint yourself with the caballero oscuro—the dark knight—of 19th century Alta California

Disclaimer: Batman belongs to DC comics. Zorro is owned by Zorro Productions, Inc. Some dialogue taken from _The Mask of Zorro_ (1998).

….

I hit the ground hard, throwing up a cloud of dust. Rolling with the impact, I tumbled straight into a patch of California lilac. Disentangling my cape, I stood and found myself in an environment very different from the vibrant, urban metropolis known as Los Angeles. I had been tracking a white-collar case involving an embezzling and money-laundering accountant working in the L.A. branch of Wayne Enterprises. It seems I underestimated exactly how much money he had in his offshore Cayman Islands account, because there had been a meta hit-man waiting in Bruce Wayne's office. Fortunately for Bruce Wayne, Batman was the next person to enter his office. Resulting in a scuffle that seems to have bent time and space. I considered my surroundings carefully, assessing the flora, fauna, and the position of the stars. No, not space. Time. It seems that the meta sent me back to a time before L.A. was L.A. Now, to determine exactly when…

Before I could consider that thought further, a pounding of hooves interrupted my thoughts. Part of my brain concluded gratefully that I was in a time where civilization existed, and the other part of my brain was occupied by _getting out of the way_. I dove into the meager shadow of a tall saguaro cactus and observed the riders as they thundered down a narrow track that was nearly invisible to the naked eye. The riders were all garbed in colorful military dress and wore rapiers at their sides. Only a few rifles and flintlock pistols were present. As they galloped away in a cloud of dust, I narrowed down the time to the early 19th century. I sighed inwardly. Pity it wasn't later. For now I was stuck in Alta California, probably under either Spanish or Mexican rule. A wry grin graced my lips. The time of Zorro. Too bad he was fictional; I would have been intrigued to meet the character that had helped create Batman.

I stripped the bat insignia from my chest and unlocked the blades from my gauntlets and stowed them in my belt. No need to frighten the inhabitants of this particular point in history more than necessary, and I would have to interact with them—staying in the desert, while not unfeasible, was not the best choice. I needed to stay lucid while waiting for a rescue party, and that meant staying hydrated.

I decided that the riders had been heading towards a town, especially considering that, if I had not in fact moved from the future site of the L.A. branch of Wayne Enterprises, they were headed in the direction of the oldest part of Los Angeles. I started down the narrow track, following the dusty hoofprints left by the mounts of the military squad. Nearly an hour later judging by the dip of the sun, I neared the edge of a town which I assumed was Reina de Los Angeles. I lowered my cowl and pulled my cape close around me to hide my futuristic mode of dress and slid in my traditional shadow-like way past the guards at the main gate, garnering no questions. Sweating under my Kevlar body suit, I concluded I needed to by new clothing quickly to blend in with the natives. Unfortunately, as the sun was just beginning to glow on the horizon, the market was not yet open. With no open clothing stalls in the vicinity, I opted to go to the nearest tavern and rehydrate, as I had exhausted the meager flask in my belt. In Gotham, with a bunker around every corner and supplies in the Batmobile, it was typically unnecessary for me to carry anything beyond survival rations. Using a combat knife, I quickly shaved off a few thick curls from the block of gold I kept in my belt specifically for situations like the one I was currently in. I slid into a seat in the shadiest corner on the veranda of the nearest tavern and requested cider in flawless spanish. The offered curls of gold were snatched up quickly and unquestioningly. I sipped the drink carefully and slowly as I observed the town around me. A few drunks were passed out still on the veranda. One still called the landlord forward and requested round after round of whiskey. I noted the sorrowful slope of his shoulders and realized he was in mourning. I felt a surge of pity for the man and silently wished him well. I knew loss well. That night, after _The Mark of Zorro_… I had laughed and pretended I was the highwayman, sword fighting shadows. One of the shadows was alive and real and I could do nothing as my father shoved me behind him… The rest is history, I concluded harshly to myself, snapping myself out of my reverie. Around me the market was just picking up. Just as I was about to rise, I noticed that the man I saw earlier was arguing with the landlord, requesting more drink but being refused. I realized he had run out of coin when he offered the landlord a silver medallion. I shook my head pityingly, only to be surprised as the offered medallion was yanked out of the man's grip by a cane. The landlord hurried away as I stared in shock at the figure of a bedraggled man that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. Speaking in low tones, I could not hear them, nor could I read their lips, disguised as they were by atrocious beards. I resolved to watch the exchange, when a sudden clatter of hooves and the jingle of metal on metal sounded. The drunken man lunged forward, hand on a sword that was too fine to be his. I saw that his line of sight was directed straight at the leader of the military contingent that had trotted into the square. From the fury and intent on the man's features, I realized that he had a special hatred reserved for the captain of the group. Judging from his grip on the sword, it was the kind of hatred that kills. I stood to stop him. The same time that I grasped the man's elbow and said "Señor!" The bedraggled old man inserted himself between the drunk and the captain.

"That man killed my brother!" snarled the drunk glaring at the old man and myself.

"You would only get yourself killed," I said coldly just as the old man said " You're in no condition to fight."

The drunk drew his sword and waved it around. "Get out of my way!" he threatened. The old man drew a sword from his side and slid into the stance of a master of the blade. I stepped back, amused at the turn of events. The drunk lunged at the old man, who deftly evaded the wild swings. Finally, the old man knocked the sword out of the drunk's hands with his own blade while kicking the drunk to the ground. The old man deftly caught the drunk's sword and pointed his own at the drunk's throat.

"Would you care to try again ..?" queried the old man with a smile. The drunk said nothing, eyes following the captain as the riders trotted out of the square. "You're welcome," said the old man primly.

" For what?" growled the drunk.

" For saving your life," I interjected sternly. " This man just stopped you from getting yourself killed."

"I would have killed him," said the drunk in a very surly manner, like a child being scolded.

"No, he's trained to kill," said the old man, adding wryly, "You seem trained to drink. You would have fought very bravely and died very quickly. Who would avenge your brother then?"

"I have never lost a fight!" countered the drunk.

I smirked. "Except just now to a crippled old man."

Said old man gave me a measured look, which I returned with a steady gaze, although I unconsciously pulled my cape tighter. The old man gave a short nod and turned back to the drunk. "What is your name?"

"Alejandro."

The old man looked at the drunk with his piercing blue eyes and then said slowly and considering, "There is a saying, a very old saying that 'when the pupil is ready, the master will appear'. lf you want to kill this man, I can teach you how to take revenge—and live to celebrate it." I gritted my teeth at that, wanting to deny the man that option. Death and killing are never the answer. Never. But this was not my time, and therefore it was not my place to change this man's destiny. I nodded to the old man and turned to walk away.

"Why are you so eager to help me?" queried Alejandro behind me

"Because once, a long time ago...you did the same for me," replied the old man. I looked back over my shoulder in curiosity and saw the old man's swordpoint resting on the silver medallion. Alejandro's eye's flashed with recognition, and his lips moved behind his beard, framing a word I would know anywhere.

"Zorro."


	2. Chapter 2: Batcaves and Foxes

A/N: I've kind of calmed down from my rant and my spur-of-the-moment story-writing to realize that I've actually made a commitment to writing this. I have to prove that it can be done, if not to inspire people to read/appreciate Zorro. Seriously, people, get on it. I need new fanfics to read!

I thank my reviewers/followers and promise that I'll try to make this ride as interesting as possible.

Disclaimer: There is no way I'm doing this every chapter. Just know that if I ever owned either Batman or Zorro, I wouldn't be here. I would be ruling the world, 'cuz that's the only way I'd ever get put in charge of either franchise.

…

Chapter Two: Batcaves and Foxes

…

"Zorro."

The whisper was almost nonexistent. I could almost believe I hadn't heard it. Mere coincidence that a whisper should sound like the name of a childhood hero in exactly the time he was supposed to exist.

I'm Batman. I don't believe in coincidence.

I whipped around in time to see the old man pull Alejandro to his feet.

"Sir!" whispered Alejandro excitedly. "It has been so long. So many stopped believing that you existed. Joaquin and I knew that you were alive somewhere, surely. Where have you be—"

"Quiet," Alejandro. "It is best that people not know that I'm still alive just yet. We can speak freely at my home—there are too many ears to hear secrets long since buried." At this, the old man—Zorro? Glanced at me. I hesitated briefly. Should I confront him? I considered what would happen, and decided not to interact directly. It might alter the time stream catastrophically if I were to interact with a figure that might be a person so vital to my beginnings. No. I would follow from a distance. I gave a respectful incline of my head and faded into the growing marketplace crowd.

The tiered homes were easy to climb even without using the grapple. Staying above the old man and Alejandro, I followed them back towards the main gates. They exited inconspicuously, heads down, not looking at the guards. I came to the conclusion that neither wished to be recognized in the least, which led to some interesting conclusions about Alejandro that I would have to consider later—they had mounted a simple wooden cart that was tugged along by a donkey. Unfortunately, it was impossible to follow them. All of the brush was low; the scraggly trees few and far between to provide any reasonable cover. I observed them from a hiding place on the wall of the town until they disappeared around the bend of a smaller path leading off the main road. I gave a small growl of satisfaction. They had at least narrowed the area to search in my investigation.

I descended from the rooftops and waded back into the market, making sure to keep my cape wrapped around my person. Using several more shavings of gold I purchased they billowy shirt, trousers, and horse boots common to the period. Forgoing the more typical serape, I opted for a dull-colored cape to exchange for my own heavy black scallop-edged one. I changed and spent the rest of the morning choosing hiding places for the individual pieces of my uniform so that in the eventuality of a person locating a piece, they would not have the full batsuit. My utility belt I slung like a bandolier over my chest, as that would not be overly conspicuous unless I was searched. My gold bar was noticeably thinner by the time I left Reina de Los Angeles in search of the strange old man and his new companion, bay horse under me, a sword strapped to my side, a sombrero* on my head. I allowed a small smirk to grace my features as I rode out: I felt like a brave young caballero on his first adventure.

The little path the cart had taken wound through a new-growth forest, idyllic and relatively cool compared to the blazing sun on the main road. Cicadas hummed at an unbelievable pitch. I bet that they could drown out the traffic on the Sprang Bridge at rush hour. Gotham—I sighed at the thought. Barely 24 hours into another time, and I was already missing the Gotham. To be fair to myself, though, I technically had been in Los Angeles for several days if I included pre-and post- time warp. Actually, Gotham did exist in this time—approximately 2,500 miles away. I sighed once before banishing my city to the back of my mind so that I might focus on the task at hand. I kept my horse at a trot as I scanned my surroundings. Clearly, they had to follow the path; the new growth was too dense to allow easy passage of the cart. The path itself looked only just wide enough to accommodate the cart the two had taken, slightly overgrown as it was. However, it was a hard beaten path that looked it had some significant use in the path. No other roads diverged, nor did any roads join it. All in all, I concluded, this was a private road that had been abandoned for some time. So why would someone—two someones—be interested in going this way?

Two hours passed in this way, the new growth forest turning into old growth; ancient trees laden with Spanish moss, wildflowers and shrub sparsely populating the springy pine-needle covered forest floor. Birds sang and flitted just out of sight. The cicadas hummed at decibels I previously thought belonged solely to the Batwing's engines. It was beautiful and surreal. I rarely had time to go riding at the manor, but when I did, it was different. Even in Bristol, I could taste the city on the air, see the lights like some giant ocean liner on the horizon. Here, it was too serene, too peaceful. Naturally, I felt uneasy.

Finally, to my relief, the trees thinned and the path came to an end. The sun was a flat red-orange disk directly in front of me, making everything ahead appear scorched black. The path widened into what appeared to be a drive of some sort, minus a house. No—I pulled the brim of my sombrero lower and squinted my eyes—there was a house. The twisted black shapes at the end of the drive were the remains of what had at one time been a grand hacienda perched on the edge of a cliff. I dismounted my horse and ventured up to the crumbled stonework. The soil was a rich black, supporting plenty of vibrant vegetation, curling through window frames and doorways open to the sky. I took a pinch of the soil and sniffed, but I didn't need the acrid scent of carbon to tell me there had been a fire here, a long time ago. Calculating by the maturity of some of the plants, it had likely been nigh on twenty years.

I circled the stone foundations twice, slipping from one shadow to the next in the waning light. No one. I made a wider circle, carefully entering some rotting outbuildings that must have escaped the blaze. In the second one I searched, I found the donkey munching away on some fresh hay, the cart stashed in the corner. The donkey gave a bray loud bray of surprise when I entered, but neither the old man nor Alejandro came running. So they were out of earshot. Not in the forest, not in the hacienda. _Where?_ I contemplated in frustration. _Why do I care so much?_

I sighed, before walking over to my horse, whom I had left nibbling on the undergrowth and was now steadily moving further away. I grabbed the reins and led the animal over to a small stream that ran to the edge of the cliff, where it tumbled off and plunged into the sea. While the horse drank and I refilled my flask, I noticed that the plant life at the edge of the cliff was not quite uniform. It followed a rather steady height as it neared the stream. Then it abruptly formed a vee before evening back out at the same height as before and continuing to the edge of the stream. Almost as if… as if there was a path. I patted the flank of my horse appreciatively before carefully approaching the cliff edge. Interestingly, there was a rather well-traveled path leading diagonally across the cliff face. It curved down to a small pebbled beach where it ended. I frowned. Inconclusive evidence. Nevertheless, I carefully made my way down the path. Interestingly enough, I noticed that the most prevalent markings on the path were not foot prints, as one would expect of beachgoers, but hoofprints. Noting the rather perilous angle at which the path descended, I concluded that any horse that could be coerced onto the narrow strip of a path must have been very sure-footed indeed. _Like Tornado_, the thought came to my mind unbidden. I waved it away. _Zorro doesn't exist. Neither does his horse,_ I chided myself as my boots hit the pebbles at the base of the cliff. _Then why are you here?_ asked a little voice that I could not quite shove away.

In the growing twilight, I nearly missed the cave under the waterfall. The pebbles did not even whisper under my boots as I ghosted closer. The waves lapped gently nearly a foot away from the entrance. A sea cave then, carved out at a time when the high tide was much higher. I stepped below the waterfall, the water forming a curtain with a gap an armspan wide. I was instantly reminded of the Batcave, but of course, my entrance was significantly wider and the waterfall much larger. I stepped inside the cool confines and immediately noted the flicker of torchlight against the moist stone walls. To paraphrase Dick: Bingo.

I edged further down the cave-tunnel, sticking to the shadows. The passage widened out considerably ahead. Fortunately, I'm Batman, so I didn't give a loud gasp of unprofessional shock. Unfortunately, something somewhere between a choke, a growl, and a gasp slipped out instead. I could almost hear Dick's laughter and Alfred's smirk.

The cave widened out alright—into a torch-lit arena of sorts stocked with dusty training equipment, spare swords, and a makeshift gym. A wide tiled circle obviously used for sword training lay at my feet. Off to the side, a dilapidated and empty stable stood. A platform above the rope-and-wood-gymnasium set into rock presided over the training area.

I was standing in the predecessor to the Batcave.

I was in Zorro's lair.

…

A/N: Yes. This chapter was boring, which kind of contradicts my promise to keep it interesting. But I needed a connector between the town and the delightful little action sequence the next chapter holds. So deal with it.

I'll be back.

Maybe.

Hopefully Bruce won't turn into a fangirl and die of the sheer contradiction of Batman being a fangirl.

I dunno. We'll see.

*evil laugh*

* Sombrero as in HAT. Not those ridiculous fake things that look like bananas. (Do they look like bananas to you? 'Cuz they sure do to me.)


	3. Chapter 3: The Pointy End of Things

A/N: So I guess I ought to say what time in Batman's career this happened, what with all the weird changes in continuity and the New 52 and the movieverse. Dick is currently Robin, but was left home with Batgirl (Barbra) and Alfred while Bruce went on a quote business trip unquote. And then this happened. Also, I've actually figured out a direction for this story, and we'll see the beginnings of that plot in this chapter. I can't promise brilliance, but hey, you're the ones reading it—I'll let you judge. Now to the story! And we're walking…

…

Chapter Three: The Pointy End of Things

…

As I stood absolutely motionless in the predecessor to the Batcave, all I could think was: _Alfred would love to get a crack at this place._ Everything was absolutely covered in dust, from floor to ceiling. Clearly, the cave had not been in use for quite some time. If not for the bootprints in the dust on the floor and the guttering torches burning in wall sconces, I would have assumed that the cave was completely abandoned. Why had Zorro left? Another question to file away, adding to the myriad already in existence.

Keeping to the edges of the cave and avoiding the pools of torchlight, I moved closer to the platform, deciding that my quarry resided above the training area. That conclusion was proven correct a second later when Alejandro appeared at the top of the short stairway leading to the platform.

"Let's begin, then!" exclaimed Alejandro excitedly to a person just out of view, who I assumed was the old man. I slid further into the shadows as Alejandro practically leapt down the stairs and into the central training ring. He whipped out his sword and fell into a very sloppy stance. The old man, who was now clean shaven and in clean dress, appeared and leaned against the wooden railing lazily.

"Do you even know how to use that thing?"

Alejandro looked up at him quizzically. "Of course! The pointy end goes in the other man."

Somewhere, Dick was laughing hysterically and having no idea why. I, on the other hand, narrowed my eyes. Why on earth did Zorro want to train this ridiculous semi-murderous youth? Admittedly, he wasn't much younger than I was, but I had purpose and training.

It was then, as I studied Alejandro, that I realized the young man had positioned himself inadvertently directly between the only visible exit and me. I cursed silently. I was trapped between Zorro and Alejandro in a small pool of shadow that was barely enough to hide me, even with my skills.

"I see this is going to take a lot of work," said the-old-man-slash-Zorro, descending the stairs. I thought quickly as he came closer. I needed a believable story, not the truth. One that I could maintain until I was brought back to my own time, if I was brought back to my own time at all. I hesitated for a moment longer. Then I stepped into the light.

Alejandro got over his shock very quickly. "Ay! Intruder! Villain!" he shouted. Naked blade in hand, he lunged towards me, 'pointy end' aimed at my chest. Clearly, he underestimated his momentum; that or he truly wanted to kill me—the sword was moving much too fast towards my heart, and if I did not move, I would suffer a premature and stupid death. I reacted instinctively, turning on the balls of my feet so that the blade swished by my chest. I shot my right hand out and grasped Alejandro's wrist. I applied pressure. "Much harder," I warned, "And I'll break your wrist." The sword clattered to the ground at my feet.

I released Alejandro's wrist, which he immediately clutched to his chest. "Thank you," I said dryly before turning to face Zorro. He wore an easy smile on his face, but his crystalline blue eyes were cold with calculation. I pulled my sombrero off my head and gave a short, respectful bow. "Señor."

"Ah, Alejandro, if it isn't our friend from the cantina," said Zorro lightly. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Alejandro looked back and forth between Zorro and me, before taking a step backwards in surprise. "You!"

"Me," I said simply. "When we met earlier, I had no idea that you were the man I was looking for," nodding towards Zorro. "That is, until you mentioned his name, Alejandro. I am Bruce Wayne, son of Judge Solomon Wayne of Gotham City in America. And I seek justice."

"Why do you think you would find it here, Señor Wayne?" asked Zorro. I held his gaze steadily and told him a lie built on truth.

"I have seen firsthand the oppression and crime rampant in my city, and I wish to put it to an end. Long have I heard tales of 'Señor Zorro,' the Curse of Capistrano, who avenges those who are preyed upon by injustice. I seek to learn from him. From you," I said, gesturing towards him. Oddly enough, it was not too different from the tens of dozens of ways that I have asked for training. Yet this time, I could probably already beat my teacher in a straight fight. I would have to hold back, but it would be worth it, to learn about a person I had thought fictional firsthand. I would not admit to myself that I still consider him at least a little bit my hero.

"Well, you can't," said Alejandro hotly. "He has offered to train me already, and I have accepted."

"What Alejandro say is true," said Zorro consideringly. He studied me carefully for a moment, before saying, "But, Señor Wayne, you already know most of what Alejandro needs to learn, don't you? There is one last thing… One missing piece to the puzzle. A piece that I can provide."

I gave a quick nod of assent. At the same time, I felt a little uneasy. I'm Batman. That fact is what completes my ability to be Gotham's protector. By letting go of my troubles as Bruce Wayne, I can effectively stop doubt from slowing me down. I wanted to write it off as a ridiculous assumption made by a crazy old man. But at the same time, I had a hunch that Zorro was just as perceptive as he pretended to be. And as a good detective, I always listen to my hunches.

"Then I shall help you on your quest, Señor Wayne. Come, both of you." I draped my cape over the wooden railing and then followed Alejandro and Zorro into the central ring. "This is the Master's Weil," said Zorro with a broad sweep of his arm. "This ring shall become your life. Nothing exists outside of it until I tell you it does."

"But Captain Love—" began Alejandro, referring, I believe, to the army captain I had seen Alejandro attempt to assault earlier today in the square.

"Not even Captain Love exists, Alejandro. As you progress, the circle will become smaller, until you have mastered all I have to teach you."

To me, the speech felt very standard—I had promised myself to so many masters over the years, that what he was saying felt commonplace. I had thought that I had become my own master, but apparently I would have to put myself through the rigors of an apprentice again to get out of this…interesting… situation.

"Sí, Señor," said Alejandro, looking humbled. I narrowed my eyes. Zorro instantly pinpointed that action as a sign of small rebellion. I realized that I had indeed been thinking that I was superior to his skill.

A dry smile graced Zorro's lips. "Time to test what you know, Señor Wayne." Alejandro looked viciously excited as he exited the ring, assuming that I was going to be humiliated as he was earlier.

Zorro drew his sword and fell into the practiced stance of a fencer. I observed the way he held himself for a moment before drawing my own sword and falling into ready stance. It was then I realized I had made a grave error. I felt slightly off-balance in the fencer's position. I was out of practice. I tried to remember the last time I had fenced in European style. I grimaced as I remembered that I had been 19, comparing European fencing to Kendo—traditional Japanese swordfighting technique—with a fellow apprentice at my sword school. Since becoming Batman, I was far more likely to face ninjas than fencing champions.

"Attack," demanded Zorro. I did so, a clean thrust, which was instantly halted by his parry. I cursed as I realized that I had fallen into a form unsuited for my double-edged rapier. I was far more used to katanas. Even the double-edged Chinese swords I sometimes used were different from the narrow blade I was now using to fend off the greatest swordsman ever. Every thrust I made was inevitably parried by a lightning-quick band of steel. Whenever Zorro would strike, it was like his sword was an angry snake. With all my speed and skill, I knew I was barely fending off his edge. Using half-remembered forms, I danced on the tips of my toes, challenging and defending by turns. Our blades crashed with a silvery metal-on-metal sound, echoing in the cave. I swept low, with my sword, only to have it turned away. Using the momentum from the flick, I twirled my sword back over my head and brought it crashing down. It smashed into Zorro's blade, and for a moment I felt a little give. He was growing tired, breathing more heavily, though his speed did not betray him. If anything, his sword flashed faster. I bore down harder, lending power to my blows. I had all but forgotten that this fight was just a sparring match to test me. It had become very real as soon as I had realized I was at a disadvantage, and I leapt at the opportunity to level the playing field. I moved quicker, attempting to outmaneuver him into a bad position. I was beginning to plan out my moves, thinking steps ahead at a time.

I grinned ferally when I saw the opportunity in my mind. Thrust, parry, fake, swing—to my shock, his blade crashed against mine at the perfect angle to send it flying out of the air. I had made a mistake. I had forgotten for a half-second the fact that the rapier can move faster than a heavier katana. Zorro caught my blade easily and held the tip under my chin. His breathing evened out and his dry smile had returned. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Alejandro looking smug.

I was a little bit in shock still. I couldn't allow myself to be beaten. To fall was to die. And yet, with a blade pointed directly at the soft column of my throat, I could do nothing but raise my hands in surrender. "I give, Zorro," I admitted.

Zorro lifted the blade away and offered it to me hilt first. "You are skilled, Bruce. But you do not have the art mastered." I wanted to growl that I did in fact have _many_ sword styles mastered, but considering my shoddy performance of thirty seconds prior, I had no right to protest._ If anything_, I admitted to myself, _At least this little misadventure will allow me to brush up on some sorely neglected skills._ "You will learn in time," continued Zorro, "But for now, I suggest that rest is the best for all of us."

A wave of exhaustion hit me as soon as he mentioned rest, and I recalled that the last time I had slept was in future Los Angeles more than 24 hours prior. I had been fueled by adrenaline upon being presented with an entirely different time, and after the fight, it had run its course. "Thank you, Señor Zorro," I said, trying for humble.

"Don Diego de la Vega is my given name, Bruce," corrected the man gently. I observed how tired he looked. His silver hair settled neatly at his shoulders, his slightly wrinkled face was calm, and his head was held high, but I saw the defeated slump of his shoulders. His eyes held an old sorrow, and for a moment, I wondered how such a great warrior could fall so far.

"Thank you, Don Diego," I said again as we mounted the platform. Don Diego led Alejandro and myself to separate quarters carved deeper into the cave. Another set of stone stairs spiraled upwards, reminiscent to the Batcave. As exhaustion settled further into my bones, another wave of homesickness assaulted me, and I almost didn't hear de la Vega's reply.

"For what?"

"For this. Whatever this is. I think I need it," I said honestly, entering a small alcove with a single cot and a small nightstand with a mirror and empty washbasin.

"Good," said Don Diego firmly. He smiled wryly, blue eyes glimmering with an unknowable spark of life. "Because tomorrow, we begin."

He vanished into the shadows as I fell onto the cot and fell into my dreams.

…

A/N: No one ever said that I was brilliant at action scenes. However, it can be said that things happened in this chapter. Where they take us? We'll see.


End file.
